When You've Chosen to Say Goodbye

There are parts of foster care that we mostly talk about in hushed voices. One is the decision to disrupt a child from our homes. With that decision often comes shame, and with that shame comes silence. But we need to talk about this. We need to tackle the hardest things together. We need each other when nothing makes sense; when we're aching for a child we lost, even though we lost the child because we made a choice; when no one fully understands what happened because the story isn't ours to share.

"Disrupting a placement" sounds clean and formal, but what it actually means is deciding a child needs to be removed from a home. No one wants to be the person making this call. Disrupting a child's attachments can have catastrophic and life-long implications and it should not be done lightly.

I have been the person who made the phone call. I have carefully loaded the trunk of the car with the wardrobe I selected to match those beautiful eyes; the coveted toys that brought the biggest smiles; the stacks of paperwork for all the resources I fought so hard for. I've explained to a parent that I love their child SO MUCH but can no longer help them in my home.

Goodbyes come with so many, many feelings. They don't all play nicely together. The question, "How are you?" becomes suddenly more difficult to answer than any test question in high school. There's a protective numbness that makes it almost impossible to know. Am I okay or just ignoring my feelings? Is it okay if I'm okay? Does that make me a terrible person? If I'm not okay, does that mean I could have kept going and just gave up too soon? If I'm stable now but remember binge eating mozzarella sticks on my kitchen floor yesterday, is it crazy to say I'm doing great? If I got angry when I found a tiny sock - angry, instead of sad - does that mean I should just own my place as a terrible human?

Sometimes, for a short time, we need room to simply NOT feel. Go somewhere fun. Find a babysitter and play Candy Crush at Panera. Go for a date with a friend or our spouse. Take a painting class. Shut everything out so that we can have the strength to pull it together when we need to.

Eventually we need room to feel enormous feelings. Enormous guilt. Enormous relief. Enormous joy over the pieces of life that work now - family meals that aren't daily torture; bedtime routines that are simple and sweet; days without panicked phone calls from school. Enormous sadness because life is so hard for a person so young and because we so desperately wanted to be the one to come through for that child.

We need room to be confident that we followed God's lead. Room to be convinced that we made the wrong choice. To be afraid we ruined our forever kids. To have peace that our forever children are stronger and more empathetic because of this. To be angry at ourselves because our own baggage got in the way. To be depressed. To be excited. To be sad for the child who left. To have visions for a different kind of future. To be terrified of ever doing foster care again in case it was our fault. To be ready to jump back in.

Allowing yourself to experience and name your feelings is a huge part of healing, but it needs to be done in a safe space and maybe, if you're a verbal processor, with a safe person. Some of your feelings are lying to you. Find those lies and then call them out! You aren't a bad person for pouring into a child who needed a loving home, even if things you didn't expect came from it. Even if there is hurt now that will take a long time to heal. God can and does have a plan for the hard and the messy pieces of life - your life and that child's life.

You might not ever see the whole picture, but you might understand more of it someday. Today, trust the Maker of all the pieces to put them together in just the right way (through you or despite you).

When I start to heal and process, I naturally seek out answers. I find strategies that could have worked. I learn pieces of a child's history that might have given me a different approach. I dive into my own baggage and find room for growth in myself. And then I have to forgive myself all over again, because Then Me didn't have the information that Now Me has; didn't have the resources, time or capacity to get the information; and might not have been able to change things even with that information. God is still in charge, even if there are things I didn't know that could have helped (and there certainly always will be such things).

We need the courage to keep learning without fear that we'll find reasons to hate ourselves. We need to commit to forgiveness and SO much grace for what we've been through. How can we jump back into the hard things if we're still holding ourselves under a microscope and harshly criticizing each moment? There were so many moments... Probably so many more than we thought we could manage. So many moments that we endured with love and commitment because we wanted to try everything we possibly could first.

We're not perfect. Maybe that surprised us, but it didn't surprise God. He can still use us. We can't let our own expectations get in the way.

You might wonder - was it really love? Maybe it felt like more of a constant stretching of yourself and less of a warm and fuzzy feeling. Was it love to keep trying when things were already looking pretty bad? Was it love to say yes when it ended up not being a forever yes? Was it love growing a child's attachment to a person who didn't/couldn't stay? I would argue that each morning you woke up and fought for them was another instance of love. Each item carefully packed was love. Each phone call, appointment, meal, washed outfit, hair braid. When it didn't feel like love - that's a strong love that pushes itself forward ahead of feelings. That is sacrificial love.

Find the beautiful things. Find the ways you helped them grow. Did you teach your child how to get dressed? Did they learn that it was safe to get a diaper change from a trusted adult? Did they gain a pound, grow an inch, learn some new words? Did you help them problem solve a relationship with a friend? Did you read Bible stories with them? Did you tell them about Jesus? Are you still praying for them? Did you find yourself able to support and love their first family?

Maybe you helped your child get a diagnosis that they needed to start receiving services. Maybe your documentation will be just what the next foster home needs in order to start out on a healthier foot than you did (remember how little information you had in the beginning?).

Maybe you smiled when you saw their smile that you had to work so hard for. Maybe you enjoyed dancing together. Maybe you taught them the one song that's their favorite now. Maybe you strengthened a bond between bio siblings. Maybe you shared healthier coping skills for fear and anxiety. Maybe you modeled apologizing.

Maybe you were the first to carve a Jack-o-Lantern with them; bring them horseback riding; give them swimming lessons; have a campfire in the backyard. Maybe you bought them a new wardrobe and they have clothes that fit right for the first time ever. Maybe you found them books that actually caught their interest and started a new appreciation for reading.

Dig deep and pile on all the wonderful, beautiful, positive moments you can find. Don't cross them off because there was an equally painful moment next to them. Just let the good things roll through. Forgive yourself after you remember each good thing, because you might want to make yourself the bad guy again. But you need this. You need to remember that you really love that child. You can forgive yourself for making the choice to move them when you can start to understand that you really did - really DO - love them.